Magic Graves

would rise to greet a beautiful woman, but I'm afraid I'm indisposed at the moment."
    I pulled back a little more of the sheet revealing an industrial-size steel chain. "I can see that."
    "Perhaps I could impose on you to do me the great favor of removing my bonds?"
    "Why did Rodriguez and Castor chain you?" And where the hell did they find a chain of this size?
    A slight smile touched his lips. "I'd prefer not to answer that question."
    "Then we're in trouble. Clients get restrained when they interfere with the bodyguards' ability to keep them safe. Since you won't tell me why the previous team decided to chain you, I can't let you go."
    The smile grew wider. "I see your point."
    "Does this mean you're ready to enlighten me?"
    "I'm afraid not."
    I nodded. "I see. Well then, I'll clear the rest of the apartment, and then I'll come back and we'll talk some more."
    "Do you prefer brunets or blonds?"
    "What?"
    The sheet shivered.
    "Quickly, Kate. Brunettes or blonds? Pick one."
    Odd bulges strained the sheet. I grabbed the covers and jerked them back.
    Saiman lay naked, his body pinned to the bed by the chain. His stomach distended between two loops, huge and bloated. Flesh bulged and crawled under his skin, as if his body were full of writhing worms.
    "Blond, I'd say," Saiman said.
    He groaned, his back digging into the sheets. The muscles under his skin boiled. Bones stretched. Ligaments twisted, contorting his limbs. Acid squirted into my throat. I gagged, trying not to vomit.
    His body stretched, twisted, and snapped into a new shape: lean, with crisp definition. His jaw widened, his eyes grew larger, his nose gained a sharp cut. Cornsilk blond hair sprouted on his head and reached down to his shoulders. Indigo flooded his irises. A new man looked at me, younger by about five years, taller, leaner, with a face that was heartbreakingly perfect. Above his waist, he was Adonis. Below his ribs, his body degenerated into a bloated stomach. He looked pregnant.
    "You wouldn't tell me what you preferred," he said mournfully, his pitch low and husky. "I had to improvise."

    *** *** ***

    "What are you?" I kept my sword between me and him.
    "Does it really matter?"
    "Yes, it does." When people said shapeshifter, they usually meant a person afflicted with Lyc-V, the virus that gave its victim the ability to shift into an animal. I'd never seen one who could freely change its human form.
    Saiman made a valiant effort to shrug. Hard to shrug with several pounds of chains on your shoulders, but he managed to look nonchalant doing it.
    "I am me."
    Oh boy. "Stay here."
    "Where would I go?"
    I left the bedroom and checked the rest of the apartment. The only remaining room contained a large shower stall and a giant bathtub. No kitchen. Perhaps he had food delivered.
    Fifteenth floor. At least one guard downstairs, bullet-resistant glass, metal grates. The place was a fortress. Yet he hired bodyguards at exorbitant prices. He expected his castle to be breached.
    I headed to the bar grabbed a glass from under the counter, filled it with water, and took it to Saiman. Changing shape took energy. If he was anything like other shapeshifters, he was dying of thirst and hunger right about now.
    Saiman's gaze fastened on the glass. "Delightful."
    I let him drink. He drained the glass in long, thirsty swallows.
    "How many guards are on duty downstairs?"
    "Three."
    "Are they employed by the building owners directly?"
    Saiman smiled. "Yes. They're experienced and well paid and they won't hesitate to kill."
    So far so good. "When you change shape, do you reproduce internal organs as well?"
    "Only if I plan to have intercourse."
    Oh goodie. "Are you pregnant?"
    Saiman laughed softly.
    "I need to know if you're going to go into labor." Because that would just be a cherry on the cake of this job.
    "You're a most peculiar woman. No, I'm most definitely not pregnant. I'm male, and while I may construct a vaginal canal and a uterus on occasion, I've never had cause to recreate ovaries. And If I did, I suspect they would be sterile. Unlike the male of the species, women produce all of their gametes during gestation, meaning that when a female infant is born, she will have in her ovaries all of the partially developed eggs she will ever have. The ovaries cannot facilitate production of new eggs, only the maturation of existing ones. The magic is simply not deep enough for me to overcome this hurdle. Not yet."
    Thank Universe for small favors. "Who am I